Crossing Paths
by SlutPuppy
Summary: If pressed, he can probably explain everything away with the cliched "because he'd had a terrible childhood". Isn't that how it worked, anyway? He guesses it might've had a bit to do with things, really. OR; Harry and Draco are both killers and eventually cross paths. (RentBoy!Harry & PsychoKiller!Draco. Contains mature content; language, mentions of blood/death, and prostitution.)


**My sincerest apologies for anyone that's following When Harry Met Neville and waiting patiently for an update... I promise I'm getting to it but this idea would. Not. Go. Away! I _had_ to do it. Please don't hate me! WHMN will be updated within the week; promise! For those confused: nevermind and continue on! n.n  
Here's this thing: I don't know where the idea came from or even why I wrote it down... but whatever. I guess it's not as dark and angsty as it really could be, considering the content, but it's still pretty out there. To save a lot of back story; Harry is a rent-boy that uses his 'job' to pick his victims (he's quick to realize it's surprisingly easy to kill a man when he's distracted by sex/orgasm). Draco kills rent-boys. They meet, by chance and... Story goes on from there.**  
**Don't judge me! You're reading it... XD  
Oh. And I'm totally not a psychiatrist (or an expert on human behavior), so there might be some liberties taken with Harry's (and I guess Draco's) characterization. It's a work of fiction but I tried to make it realistic/believable with only a few Google hits, my loose understanding of human-nature and what little common sense I have. So. Yeah. We'll see how that works out. :D  
**

**Warnings; AU (but still magical), serial killers, 'rent-boy' Harry, (occasionally graphic) mentions of prostitution, man-on-man action, murder/death (hopefully not too graphically detailed), mentions of child abuse/neglect, mature language and content (like everywhere). I think that's it...  
(And a big thanks for pinkchocolateunicorn for looking this over—even if the whole 'Harry's-a-murdering-whore' thing was a bit of an issue. True love right there folks! u.u)**

* * *

_Chapter One._

Harry Potter rides out his orgasm just as the blood sluggishly dripping from the stranger's slit throat finally comes to a stop. He doesn't necessarily get off on the bastard's death, but he doesn't bother withholding himself either. It was simply a matter of timing, really. He'd been so damn close when he finally had the opportunity to draw his blade out from under his pillow and put it to use.

He carefully climbs off the dead man, grimacing a little at both the sudden empty feeling and the fact he'd just had a dead man inside him.

Even after all this time, it's still an unsettling thought.

He sits next to the body, looking down thoughtfully with his chin propped in his palm. He doesn't kill every man that comes through his door—barely 1 in 50, really. T'would be bad for business, otherwise. But every so often, a man came through and he felt The Urge to see the stranger dead; exsanguinated and nothing more than a naked corpse, killed in a whore's bed. (It might be a bit melodramatic, but his thoughts tended to be so these days...) It's not an easy Urge to deny and now that's he's gotten better at the entire process, he doesn't bother.

If he were one for self-reflection, he'd probably bristle at calling himself a whore—no matter how true it is. He'd probably also try to rationally reason away why he does this. Why he sells his body and kills men with hardly a bat of his eye.

Honestly, he's surprisingly OK with both; he's had plenty of time to accept these facts about himself. It probably helps, somewhat, the men he ends up killing are terrible people. He doesn't think it gave him noble purpose or any such rubbish like that but he still felt a little better about The Urge when he later heard about the men found, from one source or another. Most wound up being cheating spouses, thieves and worse.

He runs a hand through his hair, still staring down thoughtfully as the blood cools and goes tacky.

If pressed, he can probably explain everything away with the cliched "because he'd had a terrible childhood". Isn't that how it worked, anyway? He guesses it might've had a bit to do with things, really. But he enjoys sex, learned that long ago, and getting paid for it is just icing on the cake if you ask him. (Not that people do.)

He'd been orphaned by the age of 15 months (by truly wonderful, loving parents by all accounts) and dumped with reluctant, estranged family. That alone wouldn't have been terrible, if his relatives had been decent, normal people. They weren't, however. Since he could remember, his (larger, older) cousin rarely showed him any attention past vicious beatings and cruel taunts. It didn't help that it was encouraged by both his aunt and uncle.

Harry learned pretty quick to stay out of his cousin's way. It didn't always work, but it helped. A little. He knows him being smaller and faster helped him avoid being 'hunted' and he learned quickly running was his best course of action. He didn't stand a change fighting back and no one looked twice when he was being beaten up. His cousin was reminiscent of a land whale and was quick to give up chasing so he ran.

Of course, he then had to be extra vigilant later in the day, when he'd be 'trapped' inside and his cousin would be on the lookout, ready to dole out the punishment from earlier—with interest.

His aunt apparently couldn't bear to look at him and preferred ignore him; to keep him safely isolated in the small storage space under the main stairs. She tried to only speak to him through the door, listing which chores (all of them, really) he was expected to complete that day. By the time he was old enough to read (after they'd grudgingly sent him to school when child services paid a visit), that ritual ended and there'd be a list tacked to the outside of his door.

As long as he wasn't locked in, he was able to get his chores done and made pretty good time most days. Meals were never late, though, so there was that to be proud of he supposes.

His uncle was something else. The man had the uncanny ability to mix the two; switching between abuse and completely ignoring his existence. It was somehow made worse because Harry never knew which extreme to expect. Both, oddly enough, had their good points. Even if he was getting smacked around or a belt across his bum, he was almost pleased for the human contact. Isolation, however, meant no pain. It was... odd and confusing for awhile.

By the time he was 10, he'd adapted to this well enough and had perfected a careful balancing act of being unseen and unheard—unless needed. It cut down on the need for his uncle to 'intervene' and he was left in relative peace to observe from the fringes.

The weird occurrences that happened around (and to) him on occasion were easy enough to handle (but the consequences of said actions he received from uncle and cousin took some getting used to, though). Even with the unpleasant consequences, he came to see such occurrences as a Gift, something he could actually do if he thought about it hard enough. And he did; but he learned not to dwell on it outside the safety of his 'room'.

And he did—every chance he got. He never really came to any conclusions during his time thinking about it but he enjoyed the warm feeling he got when it happened. So that was enough for him to let it happen. He got better at hiding it, too. He learned very quickly his relatives disgust for anything abnormal.

He was used to be calling a freak by the time he was 13; a veritable veteran in the art of pasting a pleasant look on his face regardless of his inner thoughts or feelings. Also, by the age of 13, he'd been able to count a dozen changes of address. Sometime before his 11th birthday had been the first time... Normally, the day was ignored but that year, his relatives had been restless with an odd sort of nervous energy and his uncle insisted they pack up and leave. They haven't ever really stopped, as far as he knew.

He was always given the smallest space in whichever flat they wound up in, but he was fine with that because smaller spaces were easier to protect with his strange Gift. No one could get into his space if he thought about it hard enough and wanted it badly enough.

At 14, his uncle had sent him to hospital (nearly killing him) when he found Harry in a compromising position with one of the neighborhood boys. Marc had been nice to Harry and the urge to let the other boy kiss and touch him seemed perfectly natural. (He'd seen Dudley do such things with random girls and he figured why not if he liked the boy.) And it was very pleasurable. Until his uncle found them. He belatedly wished he'd thought to keep their activities protected with his Gift.

He never made that mistake again.

By the time he was 16, he had allowed over a dozen boys (and grown men) to touch him. He'd touch them, too. It was all very nice and he'd managed to find himself learning more about sex than he ever imagined he would've. For a freaky runt, he was quite popular, thankyouverymuch. It didn't take long for men to start approaching _him_—offering money or gifts in exchange for sexual favors.

He didn't see any reason to refuse; sex _and_ money? Brilliant.

Naturally, his uncle found out about _that_ as well (shortly before he turned 17), and he was out on the streets the next day (even though he didn't stay there for long). He still wasn't sure if it was the sex for money issue (whores just weren't respectable, after all) or him being a shirt-lifter (as his uncle put it). In the end, he didn't think it mattered, really. He was still cut loose from his 'family' and free to be on his own. He considereds that day a second sort of birthday...

By the time he was 18, he'd killed for the first time. It had been an accident, as most things like that tended to be. A 'customer' (or 'john' as some like to say) insisted he fuck himself on his cock—with a knife pressed against the man's throat. Harry went with it, he'd gotten used to being asked for odd requests and not really caring how the man got off since he'd paid for it. He'd been careful to keep the knife still, he didn't slip or even nick the man regardless of how vigorously he rode the man, speeding up with each of the man's moaned demands.

But something new happened; The Urge struck for the first time and he was gently drawing the knife's sharp edge across the man's throat before he really had consciously thought about it. The man's eyes had closed with a euphoric moan as the blade sliced through skin and muscle. The moaning had increased in pitch and volume as the man came. The man reveled in the pleasure... until the realization dawned that he'd been been fatally cut. The panic was short lived, really. Harry had kept moving, admittedly mesmerized by the steady stream of red coming from the man and pooling on the white sheets under him. It was oddly fascinating.

Of course, that fascination was quickly replaced with his own feeling of panic and heavy sense of dread.

He'd killed someone. He wasn't exactly bothered he took a life but of the consequences of doing so. He was content enough with his life, he didn't want to get locked up. Or executed, more likely—being as he was 'just a whore'. Who'd care what happened to him?

His panic had only increased as he looked around for an answer, not that there were any to be had in the small room. He was near the point of hyperventilating when a powerful wave of energy had burst from him and the body vanished. Blood and all. He'd stared, blinking rapidly, for long moments. It took a few minutes for him to realize he'd done that... He made the body vanish with a thought—without a trace. He felt himself slowly relax as it became obvious all traces were truly gone and went for a shower.

Later, it was a bit tricky to manage that panic again when he'd had to tell Pansy (the girl at the front desk) that his guy left and he didn't bother paying attention to details. He got paid, the man got off and his job was done. Pansy had only shrugged, not really caring and figuring the guy snuck out. It wasn't exactly a rare occurrence...

After that, it became ridiculously easy to just shrug indifferently when—_if_—anyone bothered asking after anyone he'd happened to make disappear. It was almost sad how easy it was. But, then again, he was used to that sort of thing. Blending in and being overlooked had kept him alive and relatively content for as long as he could remember.

Harry scrubs at his hair, thoughts wandering. He soaps his body, wrinkling his nose as he washes his arse. Apparently, there's only so much he can think away... He rarely tops; it's just not something that he's asked of often. He doesn't really mind. He's noticed, however, that those men have yet to give him The Urge. He doesn't know why, but he's yet to to get The Urge when he's balls deep in a stranger or being enthusiastically ridden into his mattress.

Some days he wonders if there's a connection, other days he's just happy for the change of pace. With a mental shrug he shuts off the shower, content to be clean and relaxed.

]]][][[[

Draco Malfoy adjusts his cuff links and smooths a hand down his robes. He studies himself in the mirror and nods subtly, approving his appearance. Appearance is important, after all. It's one of the many lessons he's learned early on. Malfoys keep an eye on their appearance, regardless of time or place. (Yes; even when trolling the streets.) He gathers a few other things, absently patting at his pockets to make sure he hasn't forgotten anything. It's only happened once, but once was enough.

Especially when one has the habit of ending lives. It's almost dreadfully textbook; he kills because he can. Quite simple really. He's also become slightly addicted to the rush of power he feels when exercising the highest form of control over someone. He has no shortage of control in his life, he just enjoys it so thoroughly he's drawn to it in all aspects of his life.

As a Malfoy, power and control is practically embedded into his very magical core, after all.

Draco uses those traits to keep his habit low-key. Killing with his hands and tools instead of magic. It's much more intense, honestly, and it's got the added bonus of leaving him free of suspicion and any traces that could lead Aurors to him. Quite convenient and thrilling, that.

He only kills those no one will notice; homeless, tramps, and prostitutes are among his favorite. The last has the added bonus of guaranteed sex before hand, so win-win. He prefers men, as victims and for sex. It's most satisfying to overpower another man—it adds to the exhilaration.

He's probably going to be caught someday, he muses as he smooths a hand over his hair. But his only real concern about that is the risk of his parents possibly being disappointed in him. Not over the fact that he's killed - Malfoys did whatever they wanted after all - but because he'd been foolish enough to be caught. The cost might a bit more than his parents would approve of, but it's not as if they're going to really notice. They've countless vaults and numerous friends in high places.

But still... Scandal is so plebeian and tedious.

Hence, no magic. Keep a low profile. It's really the only area of his life he needs to be—thrives on—being in the shadows versus in the spot-light.

He apparates to a deserted alley, comfortable in the shadows, in his favorite section of Muggle London. He smiles; that's another trick to it all—keep business and pleasure separate and there's little risk of exposure. He's quite sure he's been successful so long because he's been smart to keep his activities to Muggle areas. Wizards care little for the goings on in Muggle areas (even murder doesn't make their news, regardless of details) and Muggles aren't even aware of Wizards. It's quite perfect, really.

Draco steps out of the alley, strolling along the pavement as he surveys the area. He's in luck; there are several young men to choose from. He rarely visits brothels. They tend to keep tabs on clientele and the 'help' there was pleasing enough but rarely a good target for his needs. No, he prefers to find a desperate street whore when his urges hit. Most are too worried about being paid, needing money for a room, drugs or their next meal, to study him too closely. He's quite sure most would notice something suspicious or off about him and refuse him. (Not that he'd allow it, but a struggle at the wrong time is tedious and to be avoided whenever possible.)

As it is, he's been fortunate in that regard. It's rarely enjoyable to fuck a truly desperate whore. He almost feels like he's doing a mercy when he slices their bellies open, which is a much less satisfying feeling, honestly. He's looking for the right amount of needy but pleasing. And he always gets what he wants.

Tonight is no exception.

He looks around, practically itching to see warm-hot blood bubble and gush, slippery slick against his skin and sliding through his fingers. He's drawn to a young man standing by a street lamp. The stranger doesn't look like a cheap street walker but something about him tells Draco that's what he is. Well, a rent-boy at least, since he doesn't look cheap or trashy like he's used to seeing in such a place. The young man is speaking with a skinny woman, her fingers in constant motion in a tick of withdrawal but the woman is immediately out of his focus for many reasons.

He approaches, nearly pausing with a caught breath when get gets a closer look at the young man. He's gorgeous; raven black hair, brilliant green eyes (even if slightly obscured through a pair of horrible Muggle spectacles) and a lithe, powerful body. The young man's strong jaw line and easy grace makes it hard to look away.

He nearly keeps walking—there's no way he can be responsible for ending that beauty. But he's never before walked away from someone he's picked, though, and he's torn. The feeling of uncertainty is prickly and enough to make him want to scowl.

Malfoys are not indecisive.

Yet, here he is; indecision halting his steps and making him reconsider what moments ago was a forgone conclusion. Maddening, honestly.

He fists his hands inside his pockets and glares at the gorgeous man that's unknowingly caused this entire debacle. Just for the uncomfortable and very unwanted feelings he's provoked, Draco has an urge to carve those pretty green eyes out and watch the damn whore slowly bleed to death from many shallow wounds.

]]][][[[

Harry eyes the blonde man in front of him with a passing interest. He's rich. Handsome. Overall, his type to a T (both personally and as a potential customer).

He's now intently focused on the still man, keenly aware that he's now being studied and stared at. It's less the assessing of value (or possible sexual enjoyment/value) sort he's used to... No. This look is not-so-friendly, almost hostile. He takes care to look the tall blonde over again, making an effort to See. He's surprised to notice there's a darkness, a shadowy... something lurking behind the cool grey eyes and carefully impassive expression that makes The Urge tingle.

But it's not overwhelming or anything of the sort. It's just sort of a warm tingle, not unlike when he feels his Gift flowing through him or humming in his body.

Curious.

He waits to see what the handsome blonde will do, feeling an odd titillation and excitement as he waits.

* * *

**Uhm... So? Too weird? Too 'WTF WOMAN?!' I've got a bit more but I dunno if I should continue this...**  
**Especially since it gets kind of fluffy...? (Well, as fluffy as two killers finding their match and doing the whole 'omg - I think I need you!' thing.**)  
**Lemme know what you think! But, uhm, be kind? I mean, be honest but you know... **  
**;)SlutPuppy.**


End file.
